


Tears for an Angel

by DarlingHilson (Mycroffed)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: And it's just the two of them, And sorry if I spoil stuff, Because I hate sad endings, Because someone died, Conference in London, Cuddy forced them, Established Relationship, I'll try not to, If people like this it'll become a series, It's going to be sad with a happy ending, London, M/M, More tags to be added, Mourning, RP based, So they're not in America at the start, Wilson and House have to go, With my wonderful House, hilson, sorry about the title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycroffed/pseuds/DarlingHilson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson are sent of to London to attend a conference. They have a few amazing days there, but the day before they have to leave, everything goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my firt beta'ed story and I have to say that I am very grateful for my beta (@TheMycroft on twitter). She is amazing (not only as a RP'er - I RP'ed this with her initially - but also as a friend and a human being). This is the shortest chapter I have written so far (the rest is 2000 words or more). This is just a little preview, I'll start posting the rest later (in a week or so).  
> Thank you for reading, kudo'ing and commenting!

House hadn’t really been pleased when Cuddy had informed him that they – that would be him and Wilson – would be going to London for a conference. Well, bonus point to the Dean for pairing him up with Wilson – his best friend recently turned lover – rather than anyone like Chase or Cameron, but still, a convention. He had always hated them. It didn’t really make it better that Wilson upon hearing the news almost beamed with excitement. He had quickly explained that he had never been to London and that it had been one of his childhood dreams. Great, House thought to himself. So I’ll be stuck with an oncologist who will be trying to rekindle his contacts with other oncologists half of the time and the other half will be with an overexcited teenager.

It had been no surprise that Cuddy had refused to take no for an answer when he had tried to decline the offer. Well, he actually told her that she could find another pair of doctors to go spread the reputation of the hospital. And that was even a nice rephrasing.

The last few days before they had to leave, Wilson had spent the evenings packing their stuff. He made sure he had enough files for him to read on the plane, enough Vicodin for House to survive the four days there – Cuddy had tried to convince him to take a week off, but there was no way that House was going to leave the department of diagnostics in the hands of Foreman for an entire week. There would be no cases solved and he would have to clean up all the mess. No thanks. Wilson didn’t only pack those two things, but when he had started to list everything he had been stuffing into their bags, House had sort of tuned out. He couldn’t care less, as long as he had a clean shirt to wear every day, some clean underwear and most definitely enough Vicodin.

So they flew to England, went to all the bloody conference meetings – Wilson had almost blackmailed him into going, it wasn’t like he had wanted to, he had rather spent the day in bed with the oncologist – and time flew by. Before House had even realized it, it was already their last day – maybe Wilson’s soothing presence had helped calm him down – and the two men had gone out for a day exploring the British museum and some fish and chips. He had protested when Wilson had proposed they eat that typical British dish, but there had been no way around it. Fish and chips or nothing at all, so House had, even though it was with a big sulk brewing, given in to his lover.

Looking back on it, the dinner had been quite nice. It had been peaceful – there had been no shouting or fighting that day – and the food had been… good. Even House had to admit it, the chips were much better than those weird fries they served at McDonalds. And during the meal they had been forced to sit together at a small table for two with barely enough space to put both men’s legs comfortably. House had tried to get the waiter to redirect them to another table, playing the cripple card, but there had simply been no other empty tables, so the pair of doctors had had no choice. But the game of footsie they had played had certainly made up for it.

Why Wilson had insisted on trying the local beer instead of wine he had no idea, but to be fair, wine just didn’t go with the fish and chips on their plates and the beers were enjoyable. Once they had finished their food, Wilson had insisted on not leaving immediately, but talking a bit longer. House had been glad to sit down for a bit, after a day of standing and walking, so he hadn’t objected. The oncologist had taken his hand and squeezed it. They had talked about lots of stuff. About them, about their relationship, about how they had met, on a conference. Wilson had given him one of his ‘sometimes I’m really glad that I met you’-smiles.

House’s cheeks turned a bit redder than before, but when Wilson pointed that out, he denied it immediately. He didn’t blush. That’s just not House. In reaction to that, Wilson had leaned closer and placed a soft kiss on the man’s lips. This made the red on his cheeks spread more. He vaguely noticed the looks they got from a few of the other people in the pub. It wasn’t like the diagnostician really cared about that, but he knew that it made Wilson uncomfortable. Even though the oncologist was out and proud to him – and a few people in the hospital knew about the two of them – but strangers in a pub in a foreign land? No, that was a step too far. It was at that moment that House proposed to pay for their dinner and that they leave. Wilson nodded happily and got his wallet out, but the diagnostician stopped him. He was going to pay for this. This earned him a soft ‘thank you’ and while he went to pay, the oncologist walked to the door. Once there, Wilson softly asked if it was okay he if walked around London a bit more. House didn’t have any problem with that, so he simply nodded, provided that he didn’t have to come. Wilson agreed and they parted ways.


	2. The dark alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to try and post a new chapter every monday - don't kill me if I don't succeed - starting today. This is the first chapter in a story that has been planned out for at least 10 of them. I will try to make them all at least 2000 words long, but the last two chapters I have written so far are both 3000 words, so they might get longer as I go on. I hope you enjoy this and thank you for reading, kudo'ing and commenting - as always.  
> Love, the Author.

It was no surprise to either man that Wilson had noticed that House’s limp had grown worse over the day. It’s not like they had walked all that much, but House had insisted on walking along the Thames for about half an hour and now he was paying the price. He was never going to admit it of course, the doctor was way too stubborn for that, but Wilson just knew, just like House knew when he had had a terrible day or when one of his closer patients had died.

So it was no surprise to the oncologist that after dinner, when he expressed the wish to walk around in the area of Piccadilly Circus, that House gracefully declined and grumbled that he’d get a cab to get back to their hotel around Russell Square. Wilson didn’t see any problem with this so, after paying for some dubious fish and chips, he had walked with the diagnostician to the corner of the square where he had admired his lover raise his cane in the air and shout for a taxi. It came to no surprise that House hadn’t even put his cane back down when the first one stopped. Wilson briefly stole a kiss from the man while he was getting in the cab - maybe he could’ve picked a better moment, but he didn’t really care - before he took a deep breath of London air and turned into the direction he needed to go to get back to their temporary home at the hotel.

Before he marched off, he couldn’t help but admire the part of town he was in. On the square itself you had of course the great big screens with adverts and stuff, but that wasn’t what interested him most. No, what attracted him in this part of town were the people. The business that was Piccadilly Circus. He could spot the tourists, stopping to take a picture with the famous screens, talking languages from all over the world. He heard English with a heavy German accent, someone was asking for the best pub around here, he heard the companions of the asker talk in German, he thought he heard some French and even some Dutch. He turned his head to see a young girl, accompanied by her parents walk towards a large pub and chattering tiredly, looking for more places inside. When they didn’t have any luck, they disappeared again.

He wanted to sit down and drink another pint of one of those remarkable beers they had here in London. He could stare at the beer bottle and see a date on there from before America even existed. Europe’s history began long before the history of the USA began, and he didn’t mind at all trying to soak it all up. That’s why they had been at the British museum all day, starting at the Egyptian collection, moving their way to more recent periods of history through the Elygian marbles, the stone of Rosetta and some of the treasures found at Sutton Hoo. He had enjoyed their day, and even though he had seen House sitting for most of the time, he knew that man had found it an entertaining day as well. There had been no complaint on his lips.

Wilson attention was abruptly pulled back to the present when someone accidentally bumped into him and mumbled an apology in some foreign language. The oncologist didn’t mind, of course he didn’t, and he smiled at the square once more before walking into China Town to make his way to the hotel. He began to feel he had been on his feet all day, so when he saw a tube station, he briefly contemplating going by the tube, but he quickly abandoned that idea. He wasn’t really fond of that way of travel. Somehow he felt like he was trapped underground, especially now that they took the line that was buried deep within the earth.

They had made the mistake of going by tube once. The station at Russell Square had the fortune of having an elevator and House had been most grateful for that - even though the man didn’t show it, he kept mumbling that he was a cripple to anyone who wanted to hear it - but that attitude had quickly changed once they got out of the elevator and had to walk - or limp - quite a while before they reached the platform where the train arrived. And the worst of all was that even though the elevators brought them quite far down, there were still some steps to take. House had been grumbling about that the entire tube ride. He had been in reasonable spirits after that but when they got out, his mood dropped. There was no easy elevator this time. Of course, there should be one for cripples and people who were handicapped, but House had never asked for official proof of the disablement the infarction had left him with, so none of the staff wanted to help him. The words that had been coming out of his mouth by the time he had reached ground level again were impressive, even by the diagnostician’s high standards.

Ever since that trip, both men had preferred to take a cab, even though that was more expensive, but neither men cared. As long as it brought them where they wanted to go by the time they needed to be there, they were happy. Besides, it gave them a couple of stolen moments to kiss the other man without the entire city of London looking at them. Not that they would’ve cared in any way at all, but the rest of London might be left moved - or worse, with emotions. It was the strong reaction of some of their friends at home when they had called in that had them think twice about their public affections. Yes, they were in a completely different city than they usually were, but that didn’t take away that there were multiple doctors here in town for the conference. Doctors they might have to work with one day - let’s be fair, Wilson might have to work with them one day while House would just scoff at them and chase them away.

Wilson smiled as he spotted a traffic light turned red. He had to traverse the road in two parts and somehow - he had no idea why - the traffic lights always managed to make him wait twice before he found himself on the other side. In the beginning it had annoyed him, but now it was just part of the city’s charm. He still glanced over to the right automatically instead of the left - on this point he wholeheartedly agreed on House’s account that the British were idiots for driving left instead of right - but only to glance over to the other side quickly. He got to the desired side safely and walked into one of those small, darker, yet very cozy alleyways. There were a few of them back in New Jersey and he tried to walk through them as often as he could.

At first glance, this one was no different from any other safe little galley in the world, but it was the occupants that made it different. Lurching in the shadows were two men. Wilson hadn’t spotted them yet since he was blissfully thinking about the couple’s few kisses they had shared outside of the bed. The first man was way too thin, his skin almost breaking as it was stretched over his bones. His hair was untended, like most homeless people’s tended to be. It was him that had been carrying a knife for some months now, after a failed incident of trying to hold onto the drugs he had bought only a couple of hours ago. The second man was different. Even though he was obviously homeless as well, he was less messy and skinny. Actually, he looked rather fudgy. He looked healthier than the drugs user.

It was only when the man with the knife got up and stood in his way that Wilson noticed their presence. He looked down at the drawn knife and back up at the face of the man holding it, nervously. “How can I help you, gentlemen?” He asked softly, trying not to sound too freaked out and scared.

"Give us your money. Now." The man demanded. His voice was hoarse and he way he held the knife told Wilson that he was undoubtedly high. He tried to guess if he had a chance to run, but his experience with House had told him never to underestimate a high drugs user.

So it was only a logical next step for Wilson to dig into his pockets for his wallet. He didn’t have that much money on him, only ten American dollars and about twenty British pounds. He held them all out to the two men and as the second men snatched the money out of his hand out of his hand, he thought about making a run for it. The first man was too busy to look how much Wilson had had with him exactly and he looked up disappointed. “That’s not nearly enough! You’re a tourist, you must have more!”

Wilson opened his mouth to protest and show the man that he really didn’t have anything more than that, but he was abruptly stopped when the man grabbed his wallet to check how much more money the oncologist was keeping from them. There was a disappointed sound when they didn’t find any more money. The knife was grabbed a little tighter and pointed closer at Wilson, who swallowed tightly. He was getting scared. Scared that he might not survive this particular trip, that he might now be able to see House again, that the men might hurt him.

"Get us more money!" The first man demanded.

Wilson bravely shook his head. He wasn’t going to be the sponserer of some drug addicts in some dark alley somewhere in London. He glanced at his only way out, past the men. If he ran, he should be able to surprise the men. Yes, he should be safe. But at the moment he moved his first foot to start running, the knife shot forward in the direction of his throat. Too late to stop moving now, Wilson almost fell on the knife, which left him with a deep wound, running up from right under his chin, diagonally downwards to his collarbone. He immediately had trouble breathing - the knife must have hit the (ademhalingsbuis in keel) - and when he tried to call for help, no sound would leave his mouth. So they hit his vocal chords as well. Wilson fell down on his knees and pressed his hands against the wound, wincing at the pain they caused. He pulled one hand back and saw that it was covered in blood, even though it had only touched his throat a couple of seconds. The man had managed to hit his artery. Everything was starting to get blurry but he did manage to see the two men move backwards before they ran away. What a lot of good they were. Wilson tried once more to call for help, but his throat refused to make any sound.

Wilson realized that he would never survive this wound unless someone turned up right this second and since that was very unlikely to happen, he accepted his imminent death. What else could he do? Cry about how unfair it was? He smirked slightly at the thought. He didn’t want to spend his last precious seconds like that. Instead, his thoughts trailed to the man who was by now hopefully in a hotel. His one free hand moved to his pocket, trying to contact the man. He got the phone out of there and unlocked it. He tried to write a message, but his vision was now not only blurry, but also filled with black spots. He needed to leave one last message though, he needed to contact House somehow. He had never told the man how much he cared for him and he definitely needed to know that. His fingers only had the strength to type a few words before they went numb and Wilson couldn’t move them anymore. His body completely stopped moving as he fell back onto the ground, his legs half folded under him and his phone almost - but not completely - fallen out of his hand.

It was when the screen went dark and covered the last message of a dying man, that Wilson’s heart stopped beating and the oncologist’s eyes slowly fell shut.


	3. A Dead Body in the Alley

It was about an hour later that House started to wonder. Why did his lover take so long? Right before they had departed, the man had assured him that he would take the shortest route possible to the hotel. He should’ve been long home by now. Why the hell was he not here yet? He got up again from the bed and grabbed his cane, determined to know where he was. He plucked his phone out of his pocket and dialed the oncologist’s number - it was on his speed dial. He let the phone ring numerous times, but there was no reply, no sign that Wilson had even heard the bloody thing. House knew that Wilson sometimes simply didn’t hear it ring because he was too focused on something else, but he had deliberately put the man’s phone and put the volume to maximum right before they left to London. Wilson hadn’t noticed, but he had already been thinking about how he could lose Wilson in the city and try to contact him but the man couldn’t hear him because he refused to turn the volume on. He had tested it once and it had made him jump. So he was sure that Wilson definitely had to hear the bloody thing.

After a full minute, House hung up. Wilson was clearly not picking up and he was getting worried. He had already been limping down the hallway, but now he was almost running to get to the man he had fallen in love with over the years. He knew he would have one hell of a day tomorrow, with his leg complaining to him about this abuse, but right now, he couldn’t care less. He made it to the lounge of the hotel and went out, immediately hailing a cab to bring him back to where they had parted ways. He got in, gave the cabbie the address and paid him in advance. Once he was inside and the cab had taken off, he started to rub his leg, trying to calm it down because this was only the beginning. He wouldn’t rest until he had found his lover.

The rubbing was not only a way to calm down his leg, but also to distract his mind. House was growing more and more scared - not that he would’ve admitted it to anyone if he had been asked - and just called the oncologist again. Still no response. He frowned deeply as to why Wilson didn’t pick up. He could be talking to someone and deem it impolite to pick up - but then he would hang up immediately and send a text, his mind reasoned. He could be so fascinated with something - buildings for instance, they held an endless fascination for the oncologist, he had no idea why - that he simply didn’t hear the phone ringing. His mind was going crazy trying to come up with solutions for this silence.

When the cab stopped, House almost immediately jumped out, so fast that he almost forgot his cane. It was the cabbie who called after him and handed it to him. He snatched it out of the hands of the cabbie and got his phone out again. He tried to call Wilson again, trying to listen in case he heard the tune of the oncologist’s phone. Nope. No sound that did not belong in the mix of sounds in Piccadilly Circus. He walked towards Chinatown, remembering that his friend had told him he had wanted to walk around there. He looked around, hoping that he’d spot the man in the suit with the soft brown hair. He saw the brown eyes that belonged to the oncologist everywhere but never the body that belonged to it. When he spotted a dark alley, he remembered Wilson’s love for those dark alleys. He had never understood why, every normal people ran away from those places.

He called his friend once more, hoping that he would not hear the tune this time, because this would mean that something had gone wrong, that something had happened that had caused his lover to lie there, dead. House closed his eyes until he heard the sound of Wilson’s mobile.

"No…" House whispered, rushing towards the alley. He now spotted a body lying motionless on the ground. "No!" He shouted as he ran towards the body. When he got closer, he spotted the circle of blood around the neck of the body. He fell on his knees down next to the victim and turned him around. His heart fell as he saw the oncologist’s face and his closed, lifeless eyes. His eyes locked on the wound on the man’s neck. The knife was still lying on the floor next to the man on the ground. "No!" He shouted. "Not Wilson, I know everybody dies, but please not Wilson!" He pleaded. He checked the man’s heart rate, hoping that there would still be one, but no. The man in his arms was dead.

House called an ambulance while he put Wilson back down on the ground and started to reanimate the man. He placed his hands on the oncologist’s chest and started to push on the right rhythm. He checked every often if there was finally a heartbeat, but even when the ambulance finally arrived ten minutes later, there had still not been any reaction. The paramedics pulled him off the body and it was only now that he realized that he had been crying. He wiped his tears away while the paramedics carefully picked up Wilson’s body and put him in one of those bags for dead bodies. House couldn’t really see it anymore, his vision was getting blurry with tears. When one of the paramedics offered him a handkerchief, he pushed it away.

"Sir, do you know this man?"

House turned his teary glare at the paramedic who had dared to ask him this idiotic question. “No, I don’t know him, I’m just in tears and you just had to pull me of his dead body because I just care so much about strangers!” He snapped. How could people not make that simple deduction? The world truly was filled with idiots. “Where are you taking him?”

The paramedic briefly exchanged looks with his colleague before he told the man in front of him.

In reaction to the news, House just shook his head. He wasn’t going to let them take away his lover to bury him in some London graveyard. No way. Wilson was coming back with him to America and if he had to grab the body right now, he would do that. A brief conversation with the paramedics later – and after showing his medical license – House was allowed to take the body back to America with him, provided that the man would be leaving the British Isles right now.

There was nothing for the man to stay for and they were supposed to be leaving tomorrow anyway, so he agreed. The paramedics made sure everything was arranged for the doctor to take the oncologist home tomorrow and they encouraged the diagnostician to go back to the hotel and get a bit of sleep. House knew that wasn’t going to happen – there was no way he would be able to sleep in a double bed without Wilson. And he would have to clean up all the man’s stuff. The frog in his throat grew and the tears reappeared. In a last attempt to regain some of his composure towards the paramedics, House turned around and quickly hailed a cab.

As soon as the cab brought him back to the hotel, House headed for the bar next to it. His phone was burning in his pocket, he needed to let someone back in America know what had happened. He couldn’t just show up with a dead oncologist. He shook his head. That was just the little voice inside his head that Wilson normally voiced. He had become very good at ignoring the little voice and this time, he was planning to do it with alcohol. Alcohol and a lot of Vicodin.

He ordered his first drink and emptied it in the first gulp. This earned him a strange look from the barkeeper, but the man couldn’t care less, besides, it wasn’t like the barman wasn’t used to this. He could see by the stains on the carpet that people regularly came here to drink their life away – and afterwards vomit it up on the carpet.

After about ten drinks, the barman did think it was enough – probably didn’t want to add another stain – and ordered one of the men working in the bar to bring him back to his room. House was close to breaking down in tears, but he managed to keep his eyes dry until he was actually alone in the room, lying on the bed.

He looked over at the corner of the bed, where Wilson had been sitting earlier that morning, putting on his shoes. Now there was just… emptiness. No Wilson, no best friend, no hot, soft body to bury his face into if he couldn’t sleep. Not that he did have a lot of trouble falling asleep – he almost knocked himself out with all the booze he had drunk – but still, it would’ve been nice to have the oncologist with him. He shook his head briefly before he fell asleep. He would definitely miss the man, he knew it already. And he had no idea how he was going to handle this, that much was sure.

He had almost drifted to sleep when his phone rang. He grabbed it, his motions very uncontrolled, but the diagnostician did manage to pick up.

“Hello. Who is this?” he slurred into the phone, too lazy to actually bother looking at the caller ID.

“House, are you drunk?” It was Cuddy on the other side of the phone. House sighed. If there was anyone he didn’t want to talk to right now it was the Dean of Medicine. He couldn’t tell her he owed her a head of oncology, now could he?

“No, I’m not. And you’re misconnected. Wrong number.” He smirked before he faked a British accent. “Please do try not to ring again.” He had almost hit the ‘end call’ button, but something somehow stopped him.

“House, I know I haven’t got the wrong number. I’ve been calling you on your phone for years. Why are you drunk? Where is Wilson? Shouldn’t he be stopping you right now?”

A soft sob escaped the man. He tried to stop it, but the alcohol and the grief and the sight of a dead Wilson in his arms that was somehow haunting him were enough to let it escape. The woman on the other side had heard it – of course she had heard it – and when she spoke again, her voice was soft with worry instead of the usual hard tone she used when addressing House.

“What happened? Can I speak to Wilson?”

House shook his head. That wasn’t a very useful move since he was on the phone with the Dean, but it gave him something to do, something to focus on so that he wouldn’t let out another sob, because one sob was fine, but a second would lead to a third and before he would know it, he would be crying. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. He couldn’t cry in front of Cuddy, she barely even discovered that he and Wilson were in a physical relationship.

“House, just… You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

“I’m not a four year old that has stolen a cookie, Cuddy.” He snapped into the phone. “I’m fine and I will see you tomorrow, so if you could please let me drown in my misery alone thank you very much.” After that little speech, he hung up and before Cuddy could call again, he turned the phone off as well. He would have the night all to himself and he would wake up tomorrow morning with complete control over his emotions once again. Yes, that was what was going to happen. He was sure of it.

And after that, he fell asleep.


	4. A Plane Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might change the posting date from Monday to Sunday evening. I hope you like this chapter. Thanks for reading, kudo'ing and commenting.  
> Love, the Author

When House woke up the next morning, he almost automatically reached over to the other side of the bed to pull Wilson closer. But the oncologist wasn’t there and for a moment, Greg looked up confused. Where could that man be?

“Wilson?” he mumbled. When there was no reaction he sat up and looked around the room. He spotted his own clothes on random spots on the ground, but Wilson’s clothes were nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was already dressed, the voice in the back in his head said. He got out of the bed, rubbing his leg to numb the soreness. It seemed extra bad this morning, how did that happen? He grabbed his cane quickly and limped to the only other room their hotel room had to offer, the bathroom. But nope, no Wilson there either.

With a frown on his face, he limped back to the bed and sat down again. He took a closer look at his clothes. _Alcohol_. He had been drinking last night, and not a small amount either. There was a stain visible even from where he was sitting. Apart from that, he still smelled like the drink. He ran his hands through his hair. He frowned as he noticed another stain on his shirt. He moved the shirt with his cane so that he could see it properly. His breath caught in his throat as he noticed what it exactly was. _Blood._ It was blood. How did blood get on his body last night and why would he drink it away?

Then the memories started flooding back. Wilson’s face staring up at him, the dead, empty brown eyes that he had once seen filled with love and lust for him. The blood around his throat, the cut in his neck, the conversation with the paramedics, with the barman, with Cuddy. His eyes filled with tears almost immediately. He cursed to himself. He would have to clean up Wilson’s clothes and stuff. He couldn’t. He knew he would collapse immediately as soon he even touched the suits.

His phone, however, that was pretty okay. He hadn’t come around to it last night since it still hurt too much – and he was also too drunk to even think about it – so now he got the phone of his love out and unlocked the screen. He went to the saved unsent messages and opened the last one. It had been meant for him. _I love you_. The message broke his head. Wilson, his love, had told him one last time that he loved him. He wanted to tell the dead oncologist that the feelings were mutual but there was nobody to hear them.

It was at that moment that his phone rang again. For a minute, he considered not picking up, but the caller ID made him change his mind. It was Cuddy, once again. He picked up and didn’t even greet her, she knew he was there.

“House. Tell me what’s wrong right now or I swear I’m coming over there and kicking your ass back to Ame-“

He didn’t let her finish the sentence when he whispered: “He’s dead.”

“What? Is this some sort of a joke?”

His voice was flooded with tears when he repeated what he had said. “Wilson’s dead, Cuddy. He was murdered last night.”

“How…? Who…?” He could hear her tear up as she heard the news of a dead oncologist.

“I don’t know. All I know is that he’s not coming back. Everybody dies, but I had never suspected it to be him, not now.” The sobs he had been keeping in last night now escaped his body. One sob turned into a second, then a third and before he knew, he was crying. He never cried. He didn’t want to cry, but he really couldn’t stop himself. “Not after such a perfect day.”

“Are you coming back today?”

“No, I’m planning on staying here forever, living in the last room Wilson ever shared with me, revisiting that alley where he died. Of course I’m coming home.” There was a remarkable absence of cursing words. The normal Gregory House would’ve cursed so badly so that it would’ve earned him a disapproving glance from Wilson. The only problem was that said oncologist wasn’t there to give him that glare anymore.

“Do you need help to pack his things? Or will you be fine?”

There was a silence on the other side of the line. It took a couple of minutes – Cuddy was starting to wonder if she had to ask if he was fine once again – before House asked in a very small voice for help.

“I’ll make sure his stuff is taken care off. And yours if you want me to. I mean, I completely understand if you don’t feel like packing anything at all. Do you have any idea how much you worried me earlier?”

House didn’t care about worry for him, or any other arrangements. He just grumbled: “Make sure our stuff gets in America and I won’t be troubling you for a while.”

Without waiting for a reply, he hang up, cutting Cuddy off midsentence. Right, so packing the stuff is taken care off, that was good. He got up again, rubbing his leg quickly and then limped to the door. He took a couple of Vicodin before he left and walked out of the hospital. He hailed a cab, once again, and he got in. He was still dressed in his sleeping clothes, but there was nothing he could care about less at the moment. He had everything he needed: some sleeping pills for the place and his Vicodin. He also had his own ID card and Wilson’s. There was nothing more useful than a dead man’s proof of identity.

He told the cabbie to bring him to the airport as quick as possible and that, he did. Less than half an hour later, he was standing at the check-in desk with no bags, just the things he had on him and a dead body trailing him. But he had plenty of emotional luggage. He hadn’t cried since he left the hotel – something he planned to keep up until he reached America again – but his eyes were still red from earlier. Nobody talked to him, they just glanced over at him and he could hear their whispers. _He must be a madman who has escaped. He belongs in an asylum._ And a few _He has been crying._ His fist tightened around the bottle of sleeping pills. He just wanted to get inside the plane so that he could kick himself out.

It was about half an hour later that the announcement that flight 325 to New York was boarding. He was the first one in line and the first one in his seat. The rest of the plane wasn’t even filled when he took the first sleeping pill. After about five minutes, he was flat out.

 

*

He woke again shortly before the plane landed. His sleep had been dreamless and for once, he had been glad for that. He didn’t want to be haunted by the face of his dead lover any more than he already was. Even now – he was not even awake for a full five minutes – he could not ban the face of the oncologist’s last moment from before his eyes. And he supposed he never would. If there was someone he never wanted to forget, it was the oncologist.

Once the plane had landed, he made sure that he was the first one to leave it. He wanted to get home as soon as possible, go to bed and pretend that this was all just a bad dream, that this trip to London had never happened in the first place. Why had Cuddy insisted that they went to this bloody conference anyway? Why had Wilson wanted to go for a walk, why hadn’t he stopped him – or even better gone with him? He couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the man promise to keep safe, so that he now had something to resent him for because any feeling – even a negative one – was better than this heavy feeling of loss that was filling his chest.

He was surprised to find Cuddy and his team waiting for him as he got off the plane. He knew that the Dean secretly cared, but that she had convinced his team – most of all, Foreman – to come along in such a short notice, that was impressive. He wanted to pretend not to notice them, but there had been no choice, not really. They walked straight to him as soon as they spotted him. Cameron had a look of extreme worry on her face – even more than usual for her – and even Foreman seemed to care enough to look mildly worried about the situation. He huffed, he knew they weren’t here for him, but to take care of the body of the oncologist. They needed to arrange a funeral, needed to contact all the ex-wives. Normally, House would’ve smirked as soon as someone mentioned them – there was something that he found funny in the idea that his oncologist had needed three failed marriages before he realized what the diagnostician had known long ago – but this time, the smirks stayed away, mostly because he simply didn’t have the energy to fake any form of interest.

Cuddy hurried to him, her arms open for a hug, but she stopped as soon as she got a good look at him. He couldn’t blame her, he knew he needed a shave. Wilson had been mentioning it – no, he couldn’t think about that right now. The point was that his usual stubble had transformed into the beginnings of a beard. He also knew that his eyes were unusually red from crying – also an unusual look for the diagnostician, since he barely showed any emotions at all. He was still dressed in a simple t-shirt and his pyjama trousers, which wasn’t a good look on him anyway. Wi- he shook his head once more. He needed to teach himself not to think of the oncologist anymore. What must he look like to the others? A broken man, who had once stood fierce, even though he had a limp? A man who had cared and finally learned that caring is not an advantage? He looked down as he walked into Cuddy’s embrace, not knowing what to do with himself – or his feelings for that matter. Her soft, warm arms around him reminded him of what he had once had. That simple reminder was enough for the man to break down in tears once again.

“House…” She swallowed tightly as she noticed his sobs. “Gregory, is there anything I can do?”

He wanted to snap at her that she had already asked that before, that she was growing stupid, but he simply didn’t have the strength anymore. He needed to be left alone for a while, but at the same time, he needed someone with him to distract him from what had happened. He knew he should probably make things go back to normal as soon as he could, even though, right now, that felt like betraying his love for Wilson, but this was what the oncologist would have wanted, for him to move on, not for him to roll around in his misery forever. He had survived Stacey after all. _But he had had Wilson with him at that moment._ There it was again, that small voice at the back of his mind. It was as if that voice was trying to convince him to give in to the grief he was pushing away with all the force he could master.

“Stay with me.” He looked up at Cuddy as he almost whispered these three words.

The Dean and Cameron exchanged worried glances. It must be really bad for the diagnostician to ask for help. He almost seemed… vulnerable. The only one who had ever seen him like this was the oncologist, who was now wrapped in a bag and carried towards them by the people working for the airport. House didn’t even look at the bag – he simply couldn’t – and for once, Cuddy understood. She understood how he must be feeling, how all this hurt must be terrible for the man in her arms. House knew how to handle physical pain – well, there was some doubt in that – or at least how to numb it, but this hole in his heart wasn’t going to mend itself by taking Vicodin.

Cuddy nodded. “Yes. Yes of course we’ll stay, House. As long as you want us to.”

She started to lead the diagnostician to the car that was waiting to bring them back to New Jersey.

“Why does it hurt so much, Cuddy?” The man whispered and nobody but her had heard this honest question, this tone in his voice that convinced her that he really needed to know, that this was a piece of knowledge he positively needed to possess.

“Because it was real.” She whispered back as she gently stroked the man’s cheek. “Because you loved him.”

He nodded a bit sheepishly – a look that didn’t suit him, she decided – and then turned to Cameron.

“Does it ever get better? This… feeling of…” He shook his head, trying to come up with a decent word for what he was feeling, but he didn’t seem to find any.

But the only woman on his team didn’t seem to need a word to know what he meant. She nodded. “It never completely goes away and there will be days when you will feel absolutely numb except for that all absorbing pain, that dark hole in your chest that seems to consume everything else, but after a while – a year or two – you will be able to look back in fondness rather than grief. You will be able to talk about him, to remember the good times you spent with him. But it needs some time, House, and you need to give it exactly that. You need to try to move on from where you are now, because if you let this feeling, this dark hole, consume you, there is no way of turning back. Then we will be mourning you in a few years as well and trust me when I tell you that I don’t want that.”

House nodded. He could feel it right now, the hole that had once been filled by the oncologist, the hole that wanted to consume him, take everything he once was and throw it all into the bonfire that were his feelings. He wanted to harden up and shut everything out, but something deep inside him told him that wasn’t the solution to all this, so he just let Cuddy lead him to the car and get him in the seat. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat, while everyone else sat in the back. It was only now that he noticed that Chase wasn’t there. He wanted to ask the others where he was, but Cuddy seemed to have predicted this question because she softly put a hand on his arm before she spoke again.

“Chase is back at the hospital to prepare the morgue. We will keep him safe until the day of the funeral, House, I promise you that.”

House seemed to be satisfied with that answer and nodded once more. He wanted to ask more – when was the funeral going to be? Where was it going to be? Would they ask him to give a speech? Was he allowed to admit that the two of them had been lovers? – but his voice simply didn’t work. He turned his head to the front, so he could see where they were going, but even that tiny little movement demanded so much of him. It was as if last night had drained him of every ounce of energy he had left. So he leaned back in the seat once closed his eyes once more – only to be stared at by a dead man. He opened them again quickly as he focused on the road. The road would be long and boring and he could feel that he probably be awake for most of it. He grabbed his pocket and while he could feel Cuddy’s eyes burning on his back, he still grabbed the bottle of pills that was in his pocket. He opened it and the Dean’s eyes widened once she saw that it wasn’t Vicodin that the man was going to take, but simple sleeping pills.

“Where did you get those?” she asked.

“I bought them at a pharmacist close to the hotel for Wi- for you know who. He had had some trouble sleeping.”

Cuddy nodded. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop the man from taking it. Greg put one of the pills in his mouth and waited for the heaviness of sleep to take him. While the others in the back of the car did their own grieving – of course none as bad as House – he slept through the entire drive home.

When the drive was nearing its end, House’s dreams started to come through. As he saw the oncologist’s face everywhere he turned, he squirmed in his seat to find a way to look where Wilson would not be. He couldn’t see those dead eyes staring at him, not right now. He jerked awake as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up in the face of a worried Cuddy, who announced that they were back in Baker Street. He managed to get out and somehow find the key back into his apartment. Once inside, he refused to look around, to see everything that had once belonged to Wilson lying in his flat. He went straight to his bedroom and grabbed once again for the bottle of sleeping pills in his pocket. He took two of them this time in the hope that he would make it through the night.

He was not aware that Cuddy had followed him and tucked him in as he was falling asleep, which might have been just as well, because if he had ever known that she was tiptoeing around him like he was so incredibly vulnerable, he would’ve made sure that she had never forgotten it. Because even now, even when he was mourning for his lost lover, he was still that proud and fierce doctor. Cuddy pressed a soft kiss to House’s forehead – something else she wouldn’t have dared should he have been awake – before she left to go back to the hospital with Wilson’s body.      


	5. The one with the funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost halfway the story! I hope you're enjoying it so far!.  
> Thank you for reading, kudo'ing and commenting!  
> Love, the Author.

When House woke up the next morning, there was no moment of temporarily confusion about where Wilson was. He was sleeping on the sofa and if the oncologist had been here, he would never have allowed it. He rolled out of his make shift bed – he fell on the floor with a rather hard thud – and struggled to get up. He was rolling over until he was on his back as Cuddy came into the lounge. He looked up at her confused, as if he couldn’t remember what she was doing here – which he couldn’t. What he could see what that her eyes were moist, as if she had been crying only seconds ago.

“I’ve been cleaning out Wilson’s stuff.” She mumbled softly. She didn’t say it any louder because she knew her voice would break.

The mere thought of Wilson’s clothes, books and files going into a bag to throw away made House once again tear up. He wanted to keep the oncologist’s clothes a bit longer, not throw them away the day after he came back.

“Give… Give them to me.” He whispered through his tears. “I want to smell him.”

Cuddy disappeared into their shared bedroom and came back with his McGill sweater. She threw it at the diagnostician who caught it. He immediately held it close and smelled it. Yes, this was Wilson. He cuddled with it as he looked back up at the Dean. She was looking at him with a look somewhere between pity and sympathy. It was at that moment that he suddenly wondered how he had gotten here, cuddling the sweater of his dead lover. How had he cared so much about someone without noticing – enough that he wasn’t ready to let go of him now that he was gone?

“I’m not ready to let go.” House mumbled and this earned him another pitiful look from the Dean.

“Then take a week off. Try to get over this, over Wilson. Try to find your way back. You can have the week off until the funeral”

He knew that Cuddy was surprised to see him like this. She wasn’t used to seeing him this emotional, this needy for someone’s company. The only one he had allowed to see him like this was no longer here.

House nodded and got on his feet – even though he was still very wobbly. He made his way to the bathroom, still holding on tight to the sweater. He wanted Cuddy out of here, out of their shared bedroom. He appreciated what she was trying to do – well, not really, but he had to try and fake a bit anyway – but he wasn’t ready. Not two days after that night in London where he had held his lover. He stared into the mirror and looked at himself. He looked terrible. The sleeping pills didn’t really keep the dreams away, so sometimes he woke up, screaming for Wilson. He had dark circles under his eyes and he hadn’t shaven in days. What had been the normal stubble was now a fully grown beard. He ran his hands over it. He needed to get rid of it, but that would be the first time he shaved since… Since the night. He took a deep breath and left the bathroom again.

Cuddy was looking at him as he entered the lounge once again. He had managed to pull himself back together – somehow – and snapped at the woman. “Are you still here?”

The Dean had no idea how fast she had to disappear – she was surprised that he had tolerated her for so long anyway – and left him once again, all on his own.

 

*

 

The week went by, slowly but surely. He still saw Wilson in everything he did and everywhere he went, but he felt a bit better by the time that the funeral rolled by. He knew he wasn’t ready to go out, to face the looks of pity from those who knew and the looks of disgust from those who didn’t, but he had to, he owed this to Wilson, to his best friend, to his lover. He would’ve been disappointed if he wouldn’t show up on his funeral.

Cuddy had briefed him in the plans. The ceremony would take place in the hospital chapel – the ugly little thing – so that the patients could attend it too. He was offered a place next to the parents, like a proper husband, but he had refused, there was no way he could keep it a secret. Wilson had no problem telling his closest friends and coworkers about the fact that he was gay for Gregory House, but he never wanted the entire hospital to know. He had accepted that and told Cuddy that he would sit with the rest of the crowd, preferably somewhere at the back where nobody would see him.

She had given him a strange look, but had eventually accepted it – not that she had much choice in the matter. But he was asked to speech – he was the man’s best friend after all – and she wasn’t going to let him escape from that. So House had written some words down, some things he wanted the world to know and remember about Dr. James Evan Wilson.

The morning of the funeral, House had to drag himself out of bed and to the bathroom. He shaved himself – completely, like he rarely did, only for very special occasions – and put on his nicest suit, complete with tie and everything. He would try and make a joke about it, but in fact it was to feel Wilson with him – even if it was just in his clothes.

He drove back to the hospital for the first time since it happened, the first time since the man occupying the office next to him would never return. As soon as he arrived, he walked to his own office – to drop his stuff off – and looked at how his team was sitting around the table and looking up at him.

“What the hell are you looking at?” he snapped. He wasn’t in the best of moods to deal with his minions. Yes, he had shaved, yes, he was wearing a suit with a tie, yes, he had arrived at the hospital with plenty of time before the funeral. Was that all so special?

“You look… Good.” Cameron managed to stutter. “I mean, considering the circumstances.”

Even Chase realized that what she was saying was dangerous. They didn’t know how House was handling this and it was very dangerous to upset a grieving House. Chase held his hand out towards his lover to stop her from saying anything, scared that the man would take it out on her.

Everyone in the room was surprised when House didn’t say anything and simply left the open office to walk to Wilson’s office. Once there he sat down on the couch in there. He smiled softly as he saw all the posters and the small gifts from cured patients. He closed his eyes and imagined the oncologist walking back in, looking like he had last week, right before he had barged in.

 

*

 

_Wilson had been working on paper work, like he always seemed to do when someone walked in. He put up a bit of a fight, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t mind the distraction. He hated paper work, even if it didn’t seem like he did. As soon as he had heard the diagnostician opening the door, he had looked up with a mischievous smile on his face. He had put down his pen and walked over to the very same couch House was lying on right now._

_The oncologist leaned down to cup the diagnostician’s cheek in a loving gesture. House hadn’t complained of course, he had only hummed in approval. In reaction to this, Wilson had moved even closer to kiss the man lovingly and sweetly and oh so gently. House had slid his hands on the other man’s hair – something he knew the oncologist loved._

_“Why did you come here?” Wilson whispered softly. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love you coming here, but why now?”_

_“I was lonely.” He smirked. He deliberately used the line Wilson had used when he had tried to detox the first time just to get out of clinic duty._

_“You poor soul.” Now it was Wilson’s time to smirk. “And that’s why you came to me.”_

_He nodded, trying to look innocent. Not that it ever worked, but it made Wilson laugh._

_“House, you are unbelievable.” Wilson grinned at the diagnostician before he kissed the man again. “I love you so much though.”_

_“I know.” House smiled into the kiss. “I will never let you go.”_

 

*

 

A hand placed on his shoulder pulled him out of the flashback. He looked up to see Cameron sitting in front of him. She reached out and gently wiped the tears away. He hadn’t even realized he had been crying.

“House…” Cameron looked back up at you. “Is... Are you okay?”

The man didn’t even bother to answer that, his tears told her enough. Why had he even bothered coming here? He should have stayed at home where there were no people who could judge him or – even worse – try to make him feel better. He got up, ignoring the doctor in front of him.

“Time for a funeral.” He mumbled. “I hate funerals. I hate goodbyes.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Cameron was being annoying and caring and he just wanted to punch her in the face so that she would finally go away.

“You could… I don’t know, shut up?”       

The female doctor gasped slightly before storming out of the room. House sighed a bit relieved before he got up and limped out of the oncologist’s office. The elevator brought him down where he went to the chapel. It was already packed with people. As House looked around, he could see some patients, but most of the people there were nurses he had flirted with or doctors he had worked with. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were sitting completely at the front, almost next to the coffin. He almost ran to the front, but he managed to limp calmly over there.

Wilson was lying there peacefully – if House hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought he was sleeping – without breathing. The wound on his neck was cleaned up and almost invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. He stroked the man’s cheek and another tear rolled down his cheek. This was the last time he was going to see the man and he was so not ready for that. He was unprepared – not that he wanted to admit that – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t handle this.

He limped to his seat at the back of the room and sat down. The funeral went by in a daze until he heard his own name mentioned. He frowned as he looked up and Cuddy was looking expectantly up at him.

“Now Gregory House will talk about his friend.”

His penny dropped as he limped forwards once again. He didn’t look at the body lying there, he simply walked up to where ever Cuddy needed him. He turned to look at the crowd in front of him.

“I am Doctor Gregory House. James Wilson was my best friend. But most of you already know that. Those of you who know me will expect some snide remarks and sarcastic comments, but that’s not what I’ll be doing today. Today, we’re here to mourn one of the doctors of this hospital. Not only was he one of the best oncologists around, he was also an amazing human being. He cared way too much about the wrong people. But above all, he cared about me.

“I have no idea why, but he did and I cared a great deal about him too.” He glanced down at his piece of paper. There were still some points on there he had to address, but screw that. He was going to talk how he felt right now. “There are some things I left unsaid in our relationship. Yeah, before you cry out in disgust, we were in a relationship. The sex was amazing.” He smirked slightly. “He repeatedly told me he loved me and there was no doubt in there, like he had loved me for years. I have answered every time with either a shrug or an ‘I know’. I thought I could start saying it when I was ready for it. I thought we had time. But it turned out we didn’t.”

The chapel was completely silent. If there had been a mouse walking around, someone would have heard it, but House wasn’t the one to notice that. He took a deep breath before he continued his speech.

“We had a wonderful time in London, when we weren’t at the conference of course.” His eyes glanced over to Cuddy. “We went to the British Museum and I had walked around the entire day so my leg was protesting by the time we left the pub in the evening. Since it was our last night in this city, Wilson wanted to walk around more before we had to leave. I should have stopped him at that moment. I should have pulled him in my arms and kissed him and told him I loved him. He should’ve known that I really did when he died. But he didn’t – or at least I hadn’t told him. But I let him go, all on his own, even though I know about his love for dark alleyways. London isn’t as safe as this little town in New Jersey. So that means that the dark alleyways are dangerous. And he was unlucky enough to walk into the wrong one.

“It had taken me an hour before I realized something was wrong. A full hour. I should’ve realize that something was wrong earlier. If I had done things differently, maybe he would still be alive.” He was starting to tear up again. “I hate the fact that I wasn’t there in his last moment, I hate the fact that I am here talking about him. I have cried myself to sleep over this for almost a week now. And I know that’s hard to imagine.” He shook his head. “I really do. But this did get to me. Wilson got to me. So is it that much of a surprise that his death got to me? The man was… special. More special than any other people in the ugly world. And if there was one man I’d shave for, it was this bloody man.”

He limped from the place he was standing past the coffin. He glanced a last time at the dead oncologist before he walked to the back. It was only now that he realized everyone was still quiet.

“Oh come on, is everyone really in that much awe of the fact that I opened up? That this ultimate ass got someone so far to care for him? That he cared for me too? Stop being quiet and talk. This is getting creepy.”

He didn’t care about a reply of the crowd before he limped out of the chapel. He sat down on the nearest bench and hid his face in his hands. He hadn’t planned on talking about all that in front of those bloody nurses and doctors and even the family of his dead lover. He should have shut up the moment he decided to screw his little note. He wanted to disappear from the world because now that he had opened up, there was no way he would be able to come back without getting the looks.

_“I was lonely”_

He could hear Wilson whisper from the other side of the room. Well, he thought he could – even though his brain told him he could not be there.

_“I am lonely again.”_

He looked up, trying to find who was whispering. This was definitely Wilson’s voice, but he was dead, he could not be here right now. He was probably just going crazy. He got up once again, limping to the door so that he could go home, so that he could leave this place where all the memories seemed to be so much more present. He walked up to his bike – even that reminded him of the dead oncologist – and got on it. He drove back home and once he was there, he collapsed on his bed – it was a surprise he got there at all – and closed his eyes again.

He took the bottle of sleeping pills out of his pocket. He knew that he probably shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t take another pill, but he knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to sleep without seeing Wilson’s face the entire time. Wilson would be filling his nightmares – or, if he was very lucky, his dreams – only to leave him aching for his lost love. He pulled out a single pill and stared at it. He could do this. Just one more time. Tomorrow he would stop and try to get over the oncologist. Yes. That’s what he was going to do.

He took the pill and after a couple of minutes, he calmly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	6. Going back to work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will do my best to post next week (that chapter is almost finished) but I have some computer problems and there is a chance that I won't be able to write a lot the next few weeks. So bare with me, okay?  
> In the meantime, I hope you like this chapter, and thank you for reading, kudo'ing and commenting!  
> Love, the Author.

A week went by. A week filled with House trying to get over Wilson and trying to convince himself to stop taking the sleeping pills. He didn’t need them. He could fight his way through all this without them. He was so convinced of this every morning when he woke up, but by the time he went to bed, he was being haunted again, so he took one of them every night, telling himself that that night really was the last time. A full week after the funeral, House got up early, got dressed, shaved himself – more or less – and made sure he looked more or less presentable.

Once he had made himself some breakfast – he missed Wilson’s pancakes – and had effectively eaten it, he picked up his leather jacket for the first time since he had returned and he put it on. He admired himself in the mirror for a few moments, smiling softly. He had lost some weight the last two weeks, but he did not yet look dangerously thin. He needed a belt to make sure his pants wouldn’t drop to the ground, but if he would start eating again, he was sure that it would go back to normal soon. Yes, he was pretty sure of that.

When he was done staring in the mirror – he stopped himself from thinking about Wilson for too long – he walked outside, back to his bike. He was going to go back to work again. Nobody knew – at least he hadn’t told anyone – and he hoped that the surprise would stop them from asking annoying questions. He put his cane in the right place and took off. While he was driving, he couldn’t help but remember how scared Wilson always was when he took the bike out. It was quite adorable actually. House chuckled softly before the sadness hit him again. Last week had been filled with moments like this: House remembering Wilson in a good way, smiling about it and then he’d realize that the man was dead. He tried to keep his focus on the road, but yeah, well, that didn’t work out too well.

He arrived at the hospital quite quickly and after parking his car in his handicapped spot, he walked to the entrance. He just hoped that he could get to his office without any trouble – without anyone getting to him. He just wasn’t lucky, because as soon as he set foot inside there, Cuddy was on his back – almost literally.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you almost nonstop the last week.” She walked next to him and when House refused to answer, she grabbed his cane, which made him stop walking and granted her a death glare.

“I know how to turn off my phone you know?” He rolled his eyes. “What did you think? I was home, doing what you told me to do.”

She was unimpressed by the glare. She raised her eyebrow at the diagnostician. “Come on, House. I gave you a week off before the funeral, I thought you would’ve been back here by now. You need the puzzle solving. You’re addicted to it, you know that.”

House sighed. “I’ll be back here every day again starting from today, okay? Now just let me go to my office and work hard so that you will finally be able to pay me again.”

He tugged at his cane, trying to get it back. Cuddy gave up holding onto it and House started walking again, straight to the elevator.

“House, one last question. Are you okay?”

House ignored the question. “Thanks for wearing a low cut dress again, Cuddy, it really helps easing me into coming back to work.”

This earned him a glare from the Dean and he just smirked in return.

“Do you really think that you’re ready for work again?” Her face softened. “You really can have another week off if you need it.”

“I’m fine, Cuddy. Stop worrying.” He called the elevator and as soon as it arrived, he got in it and drove to the fourth floor. He ignored the Dean who was walking next to him as he limped to his office, deliberately ignoring the empty office of his best friend.

Inside the open office, he found his three companions – or ducklings as he liked to call them – mainly staring at him in disbelief. He smirked. They hadn’t expected him back here – not yet. Foreman was standing next to the white board, pretending to be the leader of this department. House smirked more as he knew that that wasn’t true. He was the sole leader of this pack.

“So, any new cases for me?” He started off lightly, trying not to focus on the fact that he was away for so long.

Cameron immediately got on her feet and rushed towards her boss. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

House glared at the young doctor, a glare that made her whimper slightly. She shouldn’t have asked, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. She still looked up at the man next to her, the diagnostician who was hurting so badly. She wanted to fix him, but there was no way to do that. She couldn’t just take the place that Wilson had occupied for so long.

“Are you done staring?” House snapped, he had enough of all the tip toeing around him, all the questions and most of all, all the looks of pity. He didn’t want those looks anymore, he was so tired of it all. “Just give me a case to work on, understood? Yes, Wilson is dead, but I’m not and I need a case to solve. Just get me one, anything!”

All three of his ducklings jumped up and ran out of the office in search for something interesting. Cuddy was looking at him – not with pity, not anymore – but with worry and concern. “House. You don’t need to pretend that you’re alright, okay? You can be honest with me.”

“If anyone asks that question one more time, I swear I’m going to snap their neck. I am fine. Just let me work, alright?”

Cuddy nodded. “I need to talk to you about… about the head of oncology vacancy.”

House turned his head to Cuddy, his mask of ‘being fine’ breaking. His eyes narrowed as he tried to keep the tears at bay. “What do you mean? Are you already going to hire somebody else? I know that his team is a bunch of imbeciles but surely, they can manage for a few more weeks without any head. Just out of respect for James.” He looked up at the Dean. “Please?”

Cuddy was surprised to see what House had come to while he had been on his own for two weeks. This was a completely different man. Where the diagnostician would shout and scream and be annoying overall, he was now actually respecting Wilson’s memory and saying ‘please’. She couldn’t believe her ears. But she couldn’t do what he asked. She needed a new head of oncology.

“I’m sorry, House, but… I need to hire someone.”

House turned away again. “Of course, you need to do what you think best. But the man isn’t going to be my new best friend. Don’t you dare try to hire a new Wilson because you want to protect me, you got that? Hire a complete ass like me for all I care, as long as it’s not someone like Wilson.”

“Of course, anything you want, anything to keep you here, alright?”

House nodded. “I… I’ll just get to work like usual. And this never happened, got it? I have a reputation to maintain.” He wiped his tears away when he thought Cuddy wouldn’t see him. But she noticed. She had seen it and she couldn’t believe her own eyes.

“No problem, Greg. And I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Cuddy seemed to be satisfied with what she had seen and heard because she left House alone in his office again. He sat down behind his desk, looking through the pile of files that had turned up on his desk. There was no case that wasn’t solved in a few minutes. He sighed, already bored, and grabbed hold of his red and grey ball. He threw it against the wall in a rhythm that would annoy most people. It went on for about ten minutes before Chase turned up in his office again, holding on tight to a file.

“Found something?”

“Sixteen year old boy with a rash all over his chest, he collapsed while he was out on a house hunt for the next club house. He came home later that day and he stayed in bed with a fever for two weeks.”

“Right, good enough for me. Get the rest of the team.”

 

*

 

The case was harder than it looked at first sight. All of the tests either came back negative for anything important or conclusive, or they just made it harder to solve. The patient got worse and worse each day and there was nothing House seemed to be able to do about it. It didn’t help that Cuddy kept checking up on him to make sure he wasn’t going to commit suicide or whatever she thought he would do without his oncologist to protect him. Three days into the case, Cuddy stopped by to introduce the new head of oncology.

It was a woman this time, something he didn’t necessarily have a problem with, but it was the fact that her hair had the exact same color as Wilson’s had. And of course she might have a completely different personality, it still stung him that she looked like him.

“House, this is Doctor Knight. She’s the next head of oncology. I want you to make sure that she finds her way around the hospital.”

House grumbled a reply, he was too busy with the case to adopt a new department head. His patient was dying – it didn’t look like he would recover soon – and he didn’t look forward to this. He glared at Cuddy and she knew perfectly well that this wasn’t the best idea right now. What was she even trying to do? Distract him from his case? Distract him from the fact that he was in this bloody hospital again? He didn’t care. He was going to make this woman buy him lunch and after that he would never ever look at her again.

Cuddy and Knight left again, probably realizing that House didn’t want them there. He turned back to his team that had been staring at the three of them. He gave them a glare in return, which made Cameron flinch, Foreman roll his eyes and Chase… Well, Chase was not paying attention, like usual.

“Go do more tests, ducklings, and I am going to talk to the patient.”

Everybody looked at the diagnostician confused as he got on his feet and limped out to the patient’s room. He had enough of the badly done patient history and was now going to take it himself. He opened the door and the boy in the bed looked up surprised.

“Who are you?” Of course everybody asked this question. He was not wearing his lab coat and he had never even cared about walking into this room. It was the same, every single case.

“I’m Doctor House.” He grumbled. “And you are a very sick sixteen year old and I’m going to cure you.” He was rarely this cocky and annoyed when he finally went to a patient.

“What… What is wrong with me?” The boy whispered softly.

House grabbed the file and looked at the name on top. “Well, Keith, I don’t know. But I’m going to talk to you and before this conversation is over I’m going to realize what’s wrong and cure you.”

Keith frowned at the man in front of him. “How is me talking going to help you figure out what’s wrong with me?”

House glared at the boy, already getting annoyed with the stupidity of the boy. It didn’t look like the conversation was going to get any better. Normally he would go to his oncologist and they would engage in some banter and then he would have an idea.

“This isn’t going to work.” House started to get up again and it was at that moment that the boy started crying. House sighed deeply, more out of annoyance than anything else, and he turned back to Keith.

“Are you seriously crying? You are even more pathetic than I thought you were.” He rolled his eyes. “Everybody dies, Keith, and life isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that my best friend was murdered in London, it isn’t fair that I am here left alone, it isn’t fair hat you’re going to die. So what?!” He snapped.

The boy whimpered in his bed as House grabbed his cane and started limping to the door, trying to get out of the room before the boy could see the tears glistering at the corners of his eyes. He just wanted to home and take another sleeping pill so that he could forget again.

He limped to his office, opened the door to his balcony and locked it as soon as he was out there. He didn’t want anyone to come over here and talk to him. He needed some alone place. He had snapped at the patient already, he wasn’t going to let anyone come here so that he could snap more. This might not sound like him, but from time to time he actually cared about the people around him.

He leaned against the wall and looked over at the balcony that used to be Wilson’s. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time he had seen the man there.

 

*

 

_He had limped out of his office to stand on his balcony. He popped some Vicodin before he picked up a tiny pebble, which he threw against the window. Wilson had been working on some paper work – House had impeccable timing for that sort of things – and looked up at the sound. He obviously sighed deeply – maybe it was a bit of an overreaction – before he got up and walked out of his room to the balcony. He climbed over the tiny wall that separated the two of them as he smiled softly._

_“Gregory.” He kissed the man’s cheek. “What do you want now?”_

_He ignored the last question as he pulled his lover in his arms. “I was lonely.” He grinned mischievously. “I needed some attention from the most beautiful man in this hospital. Apart from me of course.”_

_Wilson was blushing at first before he rolled his eyes. Trust House to make it about himself when he gives you a compliment. Wilson pressed a soft kiss against the diagnostician’s lips. He felt the man purr under his touch as he smirked softly before he pulled back._

_House chased the man’s lips for about three seconds before he got pushed back by Wilson._

_“Not here, love. You know that.” Wilson whispered softly, but he didn’t really mean it, since he was the one who had started the kiss._

_House rolled his eyes, both at what the man said and at the_ love _. He hated being called that – he preferred_ House _or_ Greg _, but nothing like_ love _or_ sweetie _. Wilson knew this – he had complained about that more than enough – and yet the man kept calling him that._

_“Why do you continue to call me that? And you were the one who kissed me the first time.” House raised his eyebrow, wanting to know why the man did it._

_“It’s a habit, Greg, you know that. You’ve seen me around my wives, I always called them those little pet names.”_

_“I hate it, James, and you know that. I’m not one of your wives.” He sighed softly._

_“It’s not like I call you_ Greggy _or_ Housey _or anything like that.”_

_“Thank god for that, Jimmy.” He grinned cheekily at his oncologist. “But now all I want is another kiss.”_

_Wilson pulled away from the diagnostician for a few seconds. “A kiss for a pet name.”_

_House rolled his eyes again, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright. But this kiss is payment for the_ love _from before.”_

_“Oh no, it isn’t, I already gave you a kiss for that.”_

_“Just bloody kiss me, you idiot.” House grinned widely before he pulled Wilson closer again._

_*_

House got jerked back to the presence by a woman’s voice. He looked up with some confusion in his eyes, a look that didn’t suit him. It was the Knight woman that was standing in front of him, looking down at him. He faked a smile as he pushed himself away from the wall. He ignored the woman, not wanting to be remembered about Wilson even more.

“You were good friends with Doctor Wilson, weren’t you?” Knight asked, not realizing that it was still a touchy subject.

“He was…” He shrugged, he couldn’t care about this stranger, he didn’t need to explain he relationships with everyone.

“I was just wondering if you could help me figure out his notes and stuff, I mean, you’re probably the best person I could ask.”

House took a deep breath. He would have to explain everything to this woman or their… relationship of some sorts… would not go well.

“He was more than just a good friend, King.”

“My name is Knight.”

House shrugged it away. “He was mine in every sense of the word. So before you try to get my help, remember that you’ll probably get an utterly pissed version of me. So could you now please piss off so that I can continue trying to get over him?”

Knight blushed from embarrassment. She should’ve asked Cuddy before coming here and trying to contact with the diagnostician. She did what he asked though, probably not coming back – ever.

House walked back into his office and stared at the whiteboard with all the symptoms. He had been whining and mourning enough, he had a case to solve. Wilson would only get back to him if he let the boy die. He took a last deep breath before he got up and left his office, having one last, crazy idea.


	7. Five stages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a big surprise at the end of this chapter! This also is the last one I have finished for now and I still have the computer problems, so it depends on how well I can fix them if there's going to be a new chapter next week or not. I hope there will be but don't kill me if not.  
> I hope you enjoy reading and thanks for reading, kudo'ing and commenting.  
> Love, the Author

There were mornings House woke up looking for Wilson everywhere. It would start in the morning, when he woke up and rolled over to wrap his arm around his loved to pull him close and kiss him. That would be the first time something felt wrong. He missed Wilson terribly on those days, but he knew, rationally, that things would get better. But for now, his brain was still in denial.

The worst part was when he was in the hospital, working and when he walked past the head of oncology’s office – what was her name again, he couldn’t really care – and she whatever-her-name-is – something medieval right? – would walk out with her hair bond back in a ponytail so that the short hair on her forehead kind of looked like the haircut Wilson used to have. It was those days, those glimpses of the woman that left House hurting. His brain seemed to replace her face with Wilson’s and when that happened he would be aching for the rest of the day.

He knew he should move on, he really did, but his brain didn’t seem to accept it. He knew that this was quite normal, that this just was the first stage of handling grief and loss, but that didn’t mean that he liked it one bit. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to get his brain to stop seeing Wilson everywhere.

Sometimes, he swore he could hear the man’s voice. They were never longer than a few words – mostly the same all over again – _I am lonely_ – and it annoyed the shit out of him. It also scared him. He knew that he had thought this particular thought before, but he was scared of how attached he had become to his best friend. He needed a hug, a cuddle, a kiss. He knew that there was only one man who would be able to give him the thing he needed, but that didn’t lessen his longing for it.

When he got through the morning and the working day, things would get a bit better sometimes. He would go for a drive on his bike – clear his mind as much as he could – or sit on his couch, reading up on the latest papers published in a certain domain of medicine. The whispering got worse when he was at home though. There were more varieties on the short sentences – _I love you – I miss you so much – I wish I was here._ By ten pm, House would change into his shirt and trousers he wore at night before he took one single sleeping pill, just to help him fall asleep. Once he was sleeping, he could get through.

 

*

 

Three months after House had returned from London, he had stopped seeing Wilson everywhere. He would’ve been relieved if he hadn’t been so damn angry with everyone and everything. He tried to hold it back, but everyone around him knew that he was going to snap one day or another. And the longer it took, the worse it would get. His team was tiptoeing around him – they barely even looked at him or argued with him about a medical opinion – they all did it behind his back to come to him as a group, a unit, to tell him what they thought. It annoyed the living daylights out of him, it drove him up the walls, but he knew perfectly well why they were all doing it. He could be so perfectly rational about it, but his heart would mess up is mind and make him angry for so many silly reasons.

The last drop was when Cuddy had come to his office to give him the latest case. He hadn’t really taken on a serious case ever since the case where he had snapped the first time – the boy had ended up having leprosy – he had only worked on cases that took less than a day to solve so that Cuddy would leave him alone for a week. The other days, he would be bored as hell while he waited for one of those silly cases to come on. His team was bored too, they tried to hide it from him, but he knew – of course he knew.

So when Cuddy walked in with a new case that was a medical mystery for three other doctors who all had had a different diagnosis for the fifty year old female. Cuddy was trying gently to get him to take the case, but the more she tried, the angrier he got for some reason. He had noticed that the file in Cuddy’s hand was dark blue, so the woman had been in this hospital before. But is wasn’t until she mentioned that the last department she had visited was oncology in this particular hospital that he snapped. This would mean that he would bloody have to work with Knight – he had learned to remember her name eventually – and that was the last thing he wanted.

He had started shouting at the Dean, screaming all sorts of inappropriate things at her. It wasn’t until he started swinging his cane at her that his ducklings ran to him and pulled the diagnostician back from his boss. They all knew where it had come from, all the anger inside of House, but nobody seemed to address the elephant in the room. House had been forced to take a few days off by Cuddy, just to show that this wasn’t okay at all, but in reality she was worried about the man and was simply trying to look out for him. While other doctors would’ve avoided the man, she actually visited him every day while he was suspended.

When House returned to the hospital, the anger seemed to have gone away.

 

*

 

_House realized almost immediately that he was dreaming, and he knew that because of two things: his leg didn’t hurt, for one and Wilson was there. He knew that this wasn’t real and yet he couldn’t care less about waking up. In fact, he’d prefer to stay asleep because here, there be Wilsons. He smirked at the oncologist as he walked closer._

_“Hello there, Greg.” – Another sign as to how he knew this was a dream, Wilson rarely calls him Greg – “How are you?”_

_“I’m grand, like always,_ Jimmy. _” Oh how he wanted to pull the man in his arms. What he wouldn’t do to get him back. In fact, he’d give anything – his job, his other friend – if he could call Cuddy that of course – anything. Even his money or his career. If it meant having Wilson back, it was all worth it._

_“You don’t look so grand to me.” Wilson took a few steps forward and placed his hand on House’ shoulder._

_“Well, I’m perfectly fine, stop worrying about me.” House lied – of course he did, this was a dream, he could make this a happy one right?_

_“I miss you too, you know.” The oncologist mumbled before he leaned in to steal a sweet and gentle kiss._

_Now this was something House approved of. He returned the kiss almost immediately and pulled the man onto his lap. Wilson didn’t complain – of course he didn’t – he did rather the opposite, pressing himself more against the diagnostician, his mouth not leaving the man’s lip one single second._

_It was House who pulled back after a couple of minutes of passionate kissing. He smiled softly at his lover and cupped the man’s cheek._

_“I love you.” House whispered softly – something he should’ve said a long time before._

_Wilson grinned widely and for a single moment, he looked heavenly and happy. There was a white light around him that only seemed to spread as he replied: “I know. And I love you too, House. So much.”_

_House smiled widely at the man. “I know.”_

_*_

 

House woke up in his bed, all alone, still feeling the kiss the two men had shared. The tears that had been gone for the last few weeks now returned in full force.

“If there’s a god out there – which I highly doubt, actually, but, you know, I’m willing to give you a chance – then please… Please give me my Wilson back. Or just take him all away, I don’t really care. Anything really. Just give him back to me. I’ll give you anything. I’ll start believing – I’ll come to church, I won’t make any sarcastic comments during mass, I will be respectful – anything you want. But… Please… I miss him so much – it’s actually breaking me – and all I ever wanted was to be happy with him.”

He only realized later that he had been crying. This was the plea of a desperate man who would do anything to get his old life back. He curled back up in his bed, knowing that he would never get his lover back. That was how the world worked and he had witnessed it often enough to know that everybody died.

He had no chance at finding his man again and he wasn’t desperate enough – not yet anyway – to kill himself. He sighed softly, wiped his tears away and curled up once more around himself. He closed his eyes and simply hoped that his sleep would simply be dreamless.

 

*

It was six months after he had returned from London that he found himself in a terrible place. He stayed home from work – something he rarely did, only when he absolutely had to – he almost never ate, he stayed in his bed for days on end. Cuddy visited, just like Cameron and Chase and Foreman. Everybody was worried, but it was fairly obvious that House was in the depression stage of his grief. They knew he would either get through this – with or without their help – or he would never wake up again one day.

And that was exactly the state Cuddy found him in one day. It had been her turn to visit the diagnostician and the man had been drunk on the floor, high on Vicodin and surrounded by his own vomit. She rushed towards him and tried to wake him, but the only reaction she got from him was a soft moan.

“House!” she shouted, trying to get him awake. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. When he didn’t react anymore, she grabbed her phone and called an ambulance. House was going to be checked into a rehab facility so that he could get over this. She was also going to make sure he would get his antidepressants. House was the best doctor she had and she wasn’t going to lose him, no way.

The paramedics got to the flat quickly and brought him to the hospital. There, the ducklings rushed towards him – Cuddy had called him while she was in the ambulance – they hovered over him, trying to get him to wake up again. It didn’t work – House would have to get everything out of his system before he could wake up again.

After a couple of hours, House slowly opened his eyes again. Cuddy was sitting next to him and grabbed his hand. He mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out.

“House, how are you?”

House’s eyes glanced over to her and he looked disappointed that it was her there, and not Wilson.

“I think I saw Wilson.” He mumbled. “I… I had a vision of him and… he told me to go back. He said it wasn’t my time to go yet.”

“House, you… that was a hallucination.” Cuddy sighed softly. “Wilson’s dead.”

“I know that.” He looked away from the Dean. “I know he’s dead. But I saw him and I kissed him and it felt so real. And then he forbid me to die right now. He said he’d come back soon and that I just had to hang in there for a bit longer. He promised me he’d come back.”

She frowned at that last statement. “He can’t come back to you. You realize that don’t you?”

“Of course.” He rolled his eyes and turned back to her. “Just because I almost died, that doesn’t mean I turned stupid. And don’t give me the hope speech. I’ll get through this after. I have to. So could you… please go away?”

Cuddy nodded. “I’ll see you later. Please don’t kill yourself. Because everything’s going to be okay.”

House gave her a small smile before she left the hospital room.

*

 

House found himself in front of his whiteboard in his office. He had solved the latest case – it had been unbelievably simple, but like, really this time – and he had sent his team home. Cameron had been hovering around him a bit longer than Chase and Foreman had, trying to make sure that he was okay – as in not going to kill himself. It had taken him maybe five extra minutes to get the female doctor out of his office.

He got on his feet and walked to the whiteboard. He grabbed his pen and wrote five words on it.

_Denial_

_Anger_

_Bargaining_

_Depression_

_Acceptance_

He stared at the words and took a deep breath. He had gone through denial, through anger, bargaining and depression. All there was left for him now was to accept that Wilson was dead and never going to come back. He took a deep breath and encircled _Acceptance_. A weak smile appeared around his lips. Yes, Wilson might be gone, but he was still alive and he would be able to do something about that. Now all Wilson was, was an amazing part of his past – a part he had been very fond of – but there was no more use in blaming himself. He got on his feet again, grabbed his cane and limped out, leaving the board behind, the symptoms still on there.

If only House had turned around, then he might have seen the figure standing next to the board.

 

*

 

House seemed happier than he had ever since he had returned from London. Cuddy could see it from far away, House was back to his old self. He wasn’t…. well, he wasn’t happy in the way that he was jumping around and kissing Wilson all the time, but he was pranking his fellows again, going back to his old self. Cuddy was glad that the man was behaving normally again. He barged into her office again, commenting on her clothes and her breasts and she couldn’t help but smile. House gave her a soft smile as well before he left the office again.

Cases were solved, patients cured and pranks played. He even accepted Knight as a presence he had to call upon from time to time. House was more reluctant to call for an oncology consult, but if he really had to, he did it for the patient. He wasn’t friends with the head of oncology, but he wasn’t friends with anyone, not anymore. As she watched House leave, she smiled softly, hoping that he’d be okay. Well, he probably would be and she was probably just overreacting. Like always. House was even whistling when he limped to his bike. She returned back to her office and got back to work.

 

*

 

House arrived back at his flat – it was still the same one he shared with Wilson, he couldn’t leave it behind – there was someone in his flat. He could see the back of the figure standing there, watching the bookshelf. The weirdest thing was that the man was wearing a white robe-like thing. There was some sort of shadow around his shoulders, like there was something hidden from him.

“Who are you, how did you get in here and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.” House snapped and limped towards the figure.

“You won’t kill me, House.”

The voice was familiar, but it couldn’t… it couldn’t be him. The diagnostician’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “No, no this isn’t possible. This is just the next prank from my ducklings. You are dead.”

“I know I’m dead, House.” He slowly turned around, revealing himself to the diagnostician. “And yet here I am. Like I told you.”

House couldn’t believe his eyes. Wilson was standing in front of him. The man he had believed to be dead was now just standing in his apartment, like the last year hadn’t happened. Except the wardrobe change. He didn’t like that.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I-”

House didn’t let the dead man finish his sentence and rushed to him. He wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. A soft moan escaped Wilson and that was the moment House pulled back again and slapped the man.

“A year. You stayed away for a year.” House snapped. “Give me one good reason why that was a good idea? Why hadn’t you told me? Why only now? And most of all, how?”

James Wilson sighed softly. “I know you don’t believe, but House, you’re wrong. God exists, angels exist and dear Lord, people do get turned into angels after they die. And some people are trained for being a guardian angel. People who care enough. People like me.”

“Prove it.”

Wilson sighed softly and moved his shoulders. The shadows around his shoulder seemed to shift until they revealed white wings. House’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“This is real, House, and if you sit down for a second, I’ll tell you what happened the last year.”


	8. A flashback: becoming an angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took so long before I wrote more about this. I know I've said it a lot, but I had already started on the chapter when my computer troubles started. I managed to save the file, but I had no means to open it and recover it. Not until now. So yay! I've been writing again (: And I'll try to find time to write the last two chapters soon. Maybe even before my birthday (in exactly one month), but I can't promise anything.  
> Anyway, thank you for sticking with this story. Thank you for reading, kudoing and commenting. And yes I'm aware of all the typo's, I'll correct them later.  
> Love.

_One year earlier._

Wilson opened his eyes again, very slowly. He frowned slightly as he remembered where he was: the alley where he was stabbed. He slowly sat up – he briefly wondered why he didn’t feel any pain – and looked around. He could see House leaning against the wall, tears running down his cheeks. He had never seen the diagnostician cry and it broke his heart. He got up and walked over to the man.

“House, don’t cry, please, I’m not dead, I’m still here.” He reached one hand out to the man and placed it on his shoulder. When House didn’t react, the frown on his forehead got deeper. “House, please… Don’t ignore me, I’m here… I love you, I love you so much, this isn’t the time for jokes.”

Wilson looked around, not even noticing the tears running down his cheeks. He saw the paramedics putting a body inside a body bag. He walked closer, trying to see who it was, who had died. His eyes widened when he saw his own face staring up at him. His neck was smeared with blood and his eyes wide open. Wilson swallowed tightly. If he was dead, then how could he possibly be here?

His eyes glanced once again over his scene of death – was it a crime scene now? – and noticed another figure sitting next to House – he was sure that the figure hadn’t been there before. The woman was dressed in a white dress/gowny thing and there was some sort of shadow around her shoulders. When she noticed his eyes on her, a soft smile appeared on her face and she walked to him.

“James, I’m sure you’ve got loads of questions.” She moved with an impossible amount of grace. Wilson swallowed as he looked at her. She was gorgeous really, surrounded by this otherworldy glow.

He nodded. “Why can’t he see me?” he bit his lip softly. “And how come I’m here if my body is in that bag?” he pointed at the ambulance.

“You really did die there. You were stabbed by those men.” She smiled weakly. “I wish I could’ve protected you better, but I was too late.”

A frown appeared on Wilson’s face. “Protected me…?”

“I’m your guardian angel, James, and you haven’t caused me too much trouble so I had taken a day off. I was hoping that House would be able to keep you safe. Why did you have to go to that dark alley?”

“If you have been my guardian angel for at least a few months then you know I like the small alleys, they tell me more about a city than the large lanes with all the shops.” He glanced around, looking for another guardian angel.

“Does House have one of you?”

She grinned softly. “Always worried about others, you. No, he doesn’t. We’ve been looking for ages, but nobody really wants to. He’s always getting into trouble. It’s a miracle he hasn’t died yet. Probably because he had you.”

“So what’s going to happen to him now?” he looked over at House and walked closer, tempted to put a hand on his shoulder. “Do I have to leave him behind?”        

“You have no choice, James.” She looked at him, her eyes filled with pity. “I’m really sorry.”

The man’s eyes filled with sadness. He didn’t want to leave his best friend recently turned lover. He didn’t want to give up on what they had, this strange love that surprisingly enough worked.

“We can’t stay here for much longer…” The woman in front of him slowly took his hand. “I need to get you up there so we can convert you, or you’ll become a ghost, forever stuck in this place and the chance that you’ll see him again – with him seeing you as well that is – will be almost nihil.”

“Can I… Can I at least kiss him one last time?” he looked up, tears appearing in his eyes. “I don’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

The woman sighed but nodded. “Do it quickly, okay? We’ve got three more minutes.”

Wilson nodded and stepped closer to House, softly pressing his lips to the diagnostician’s. He pulled back after a few seconds as soon as he realized the man wasn’t going to return it. With a heavy heart, he turned to the angel. “I think I’m ready.”

She nodded and grabbed his hand once again, tighter than before. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes, James. Don’t open them until I tell you so.”

Wilson barely had the chance to do so before he felt like the ground was pulled from under his feet. He yelped surprised and almost opened his eyes again, but a voice in his head urged him not to. He bit his lip but managed to keep his eyes closed. When he felt something under his feet – it was too soft to be ground from down on Earth – he opened his eyes slowly, even though he hadn’t heard the angel tell him he could.

What he saw blew his mind: white cloudlike ground, soft and bouncy. People running – no, flying – around in the same white robes the woman next to him was wearing. And wings. Wings everywhere. He looked over at the angel next to him – he hadn’t even asked her her name yet – in awe. If this was real – not a figment of his imagination – then this was amazing. He had so many questions and he wanted them all answered, even though that’s a bit unrealistic to expect.

He was turning towards his companion the moment she grinned at him and whispered. “Welcome to heaven, James. You’re going to hate it here.”

His eyes widened as he nodded. He knew for a fact that he would. No people with cancer – not anymore anyway – but mostly of all, no House. He sighed softly and opened his mouth. “Alright, what’s your name?”

The angel shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, James. All what matters is that you get back to House somehow. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Wilson nodded. House was all that mattered to him, really. House was so important to him that he would do anything and everything to get back to the man. “How…? Have you figured that out yet?”

She opened her mouth, wanting to explain her plan when a male voice called her – and in extension him – to come to the close by area where Wilson was going to be ‘changed’ into an angel. Well, that’s what he suspected anyway.

“Gabriella! Bring the newbie over here. And don’t plant any ideas in his head. His life is over and he needs to accept that.”

She blushed slightly. “I’m sorry, James, you’re my first one so I don’t really know how this works. I just hope that you can go back to him.” She walked him over to the man who had called to the two of them.

Wilson hesitantly followed her, not knowing what to expect. He couldn't help but look around, take the entire scene in. The ground was bouncy, but apart from him and the few other new people around him, nobody was touching it. Even Gabriella wasn't. He briefly let the kid inside him out to play as he bounced over to the man who had called him earlier.

"Alright, James." The man started. "I want you to close your eyes and trust me."

"What are you going to do?" he frowned, not knowing what was going to happen. He wanted desperately to know how his life was going to go on from now on. He missed House, he needed House, but he had no idea how to get to him.

"What do you think, newbie?" The angel rolled his eyes. He probably had enough newly dead people ask questions about what was going to happen. "I'm going to give you wings."

Wilson's eyes widened before he nodded in understanding. He closed his eyes, hoping that it'd be alright, that he'd find a way back. He was overwhelmed with a strange feeling as the man touched his shoulderblades with something new. When the man moved away again, there was a new weight there, a new part of him. He instinctively moved it and immediately the man called out.

"Wait a minute before you move them! Give me a second to move away, alright?"

His eyes flew open and he looked down at himself. He was now dressed into that white gown as well and when he tried to look over his shoulder, he spotted the white wings he had seen with everybody else. He couldn't help but mutter "cool" to himself as he folded them around his shoulders, watching them change into a shadowy mass.

"Now we're going to determine what kind of angel you are and what kind of job you'll be able to do here."

"I want to be a guardian angel." he said immediately, he had already made up his mind. "I want to be Gregory House' guardian angel."

"Why would you want that?" The man frowned and shook his head. "Nobody wants him."

That was when Gabriella stepped closer to Wilson and placed her hand on his shoulder. "He's the man's lover. Well, he used to be anyway. So if anyone would be a good candidate, then it would be him."

The man's frown got slightly deeper as he thought about the idea. "Actually, that wouldn't be too bad." he nodded. "House is a mess right now and he could use some protection from out of his world. Wilson, you're going to the academy."

Gabriella had a wide grin on her face as she nudged James into the right direction. "You're going to love it, James. I promise."


	9. A flashback: coming back to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter and it's all going to be alright, like I promised. I don't know if the last chapter will be online sometime in the next nine days, but it might be. I feel like writing again. After my exams, I'll be able to write a lot more again. Promise.  
> Thanks for reading, kudo'ing and commenting!

Six months. That's how long the training took. Six months he couldn't see House or even had any way to contact him. He made some friends, but mostly, he was trained specifically to look after House, to keep him alive for as long as possible. So when finally, he got that hard deserved letter that announced that he was now House' guardian angel, he didn't even wait a single second before stretching out his wings and flying down to Earth, to Prinston Plainsboro, where House was sleeping in his flat.

  
He sat down next to the doctor's bed and placed his hand on his arm. He knew that House had been taking sleeping pills to be able to sleep without him, so he knew that his lover wouldn't wake up from him touching him. He smiled slightly as he closed his eyes, using one of his new angel powers to get into House's dream and to talk to him. He needed to talk to him and this was the only way he would be able to do it without breaking the rules of a guardian angels. They can't know we exist.

  
So he created a dream for the two of them, one where House was painfree and where Wilson could touch the man as much as he wanted. As soon as House appeared, a smile appeared on his lips. The diagnostician limped closer with a smirk on his lips, which Wilson couldn't deny was about a close as a smile the man would get right now.

  
"Hello there, Greg." He smiled and pushed down the need to pull him in his arms. "How are you?"

  
"I'm grand, like always, Jimmy." House continued to limp closer to the oncologist until he stopped a few feet away from him. Now that he was closer to him, Wilson could look at him more closely. He spotted how thin he was, how hollow his cheeks looked. His hair had gotten much greyer since he had died.

  
"You don't look so grand to me." Wilson crossed the last few steps and placed his hand on the diagnostician's shoulder.

  
"I'm perfectly fine, don't worry about me." Wilson could tell that House was lying, but he decided not to show it. House thought this was a dream and if the man wanted it to be happy, then he needed to respect it.

  
"I miss you too, you know." He eventaully mumbled, before leaning in for a sweet and gentle kiss.

  
House returned the kiss immediately and Wilson couldn't help but smile slightly. He had wanted to do this ever since he woke up again after he'd been stabbed. He let House pull him into his lap and pressed himself closer to the diagnostician. He didn't break the kiss till House did it a few minutes later.

  
He couldn't believe his ears when the man whispered "I love you" to him.  
With a wide grin on his face, he decided that this was a good moment to end the dream. He let a glow appear around him as he cupped the man's cheek gently. "I know. And I love you too, House. So much."

  
He could hear a last "I know" before he let the man go, let the man have his own dreams again.

  
He got up and walked towards the kitchen to make himself some coffee - something else he had missed the last six months. He didn't know that House had woken up and that he was bargaining for Wilson's life. He was sipping his coffee while he was cleaning the coffee machine. He couldn't leave any signs that he'd been there.

  
*

  
A few weeks later, Wilson had gotten used to looking after someone who couldn't see him. He had understood almost immediately that House was going towards the depression stage of his grief. He tried to stop House from overdosing, from taking too many pills, but one day, he had failed, he just couldn't.  So he feared that there was nothing he could do when the man was on the floor, drifting into unconsciousness.

  
Wilson couldn't call an ambulance or something, since he wasn't technically there, so he quickly took off to Cuddy's house. He knew that it was the Dean's turn to visit House and he was going to make sure that she would find him in time. Once he was sure that she was on her way, he rushed back to House and once again, he entered the man's dreams.  
This time, there was no time for niceness or for kisses. He stepped towards House and as soon as he had the man's attention. "House, you have to go back. You can't die right now. I'm going to come back soon enough and really, things are going to be fine. I love you so much, I can't lose you. Go back, love, go back and live another day. Live until I come back and then we'll see what happens."

  
House was staring at him, almost in shock. Like he couldn't believe what Wilson was saying. "Y-you're coming back?" he whispered. "But you're dead..."

  
"I know, House. I know." This time the dream faded without him doing anything. House was waking up, which was good and yet Wilson couldn't help but feel sad that he couldn't talk to the diagnostician anymore.

  
He sat down next to House' bed and watched the conversation between House and Cuddy. He ran his hand over his forehead and sighed. He hated that he couldn't comfort House. He had been serious about coming back. He knew that it was against the rules, but screw the rules. He needed to be able to touch House whenever he wanted. He was invisible to all humans unless he gave them permission to see him and that was exactly what he was going to do when he felt House was ready.  


*

  
It was almost a year after he had died that he decided that House was ready. He tried the first time when he found House sitting next to his white board, writing down the different stages of grief. He knew that House was over him now - well, as much as he could ever get over him - and that was the best moment, he thought. So when the man had encircled Acceptance, he made himself visible to him. But bad luck for him, House turned away and didn't see him as he walked out of  his office to return home.

  
Wilson shook his head, slightly disappointed, but he was going to try again, definately. He rushed towards House' flat and since he was there before the diagnostician, he made sure that all the light was blocked out.  He was standing there, waiting for him to come home. He heard the door and tensed slightly as he for the first time heard the man speaking to him ever since he returned.

  
"Who are you, how did you get in here and give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.”

  
He swallowed tightly before he managed to speak. "You're not going to kill me, House."  
He could hear the disbelief in the man's voice as he spoke again. “No, no this isn’t possible. This is just the next prank from my ducklings. You are dead.”

  
“I know I’m dead, House.” He slowly turned around, revealing himself to the diagnostician. “And yet here I am. Like I told you.” Wilson watched the man scan him, trying to determine if he was real or if this was once again a hallucination. “I’m sorry it took so long. I-”

  
Wilson had no chance to apologize even more when House stepped closer to him and pulled him into a deep kiss. He had barely the chance to react before House pulled back again and slapped him. He wanted to protest and ask what he had done wrong, but House was already speaking again.

  
“A year. You stayed away for a year.” House snapped. “Give me one good reason why that was a good idea? Why hadn’t you told me? Why only now? And most of all, how?”

  
“I know you don’t believe, but House, you’re wrong. God exists, angels exist and dear Lord, people do get turned into angels after they die. And some people are trained for being a guardian angel. People who care enough. People like me.” Wilson just wanted to explain everything to House, he wanted to explain to the man how he had felt the last twelve months. He wanted to be forgiven by his lover, because he couldn't live without him any longer.

  
“Prove it.”

  
Wilson sighed softly before he showed his complete angel form. His wings were shining brightly as they appeared and he heard a soft gasp as House's eyes widened.  
He bit his lip before he spoke again. “This is real, House, and if you sit down for a second, I’ll tell you what happened the last year.”


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then finally, the long awaited final chapter. I'm disappointed in myself that this took so long to write. Never again.  
> Thanks for reading, kudo'ing and commenting!

House couldn't help but stare at his once dead lover in front of him. Wilson had stopped talking and was now waiting for any other reaction from the other doctor. House knew that he was supposed to say something but he felt like he had swallowed his tongue. So instead of using his wits, of using words, he moved closer to Wilson and cupped the oncologist's cheek.

"House..." Wilson mumbled softly as he leaned into the man's touch. "Please say something."

The diagnostician shook his head. "Can't." he whispered softly before he leaned in for a soft kiss. He wanted to touch Wilson, to make sure that he was alright, that he was real. And what way was better than slowly exploring his body, like he used to do in the evening, when he felt good enough to strain his leg like that.

Letting go of Wilson's cheek, he ran his hands over the man's chest, feeling every muscle, every single difference between the Wilson he knew and the one who was in front of him right now.

"Greg..." Wilson mumbled softly. "Please talk to me. I... I need to know, I need to talk to you." Wilson bit his lip nervously.

"James, shut up, let me do this." House snapped softly as he started to push the gowny dress over the oncologist's head. "You're not going to regret it."

Wilson sighed again, but let the man go on. He was new bare chested, while he was still wearing underwear of some kind. House was more fascinated by the new wings on the oncologist's back than any of the new scars or anything. Wilson stretched them out, his feathers gently touching the diagnostician's cheek.

House couldn’t help but blush as the feathers touched his cheek. They were so soft and he reached up, gently taking them between his fingers. “Did it hurt?” He asked softly.

Wilson shook his head. “No it didn’t. It didn’t hurt at all. In fact, it was over in a second.” He smiled softly. He pressed a soft kiss to the diagnostician’s cheek, where his wings had been only seconds before.

“You’ve been gone way too long, Wilson. Too, too long.” He sighed as he looked down. “And I don’t know if we can still go on like we were before.”

“Of course we can’t, Greg. I’m not a human anymore. I’m not even supposed to talk to you.” He placed his hand on House leg. “I am breaking all the rules by doing this. And I suppose that you… I mean, that I will probably show myself to your team as well. And to Cuddy.”

House frowned slightly as he heard that Wilson was breaking the rules of being an angel. “Dying made you a badass, huh?”

Wilson rolled his eyes at him, but it was a fond gesture as he moved closer to House. “I don’t know what will happen, my teachers were pretty vague about it. I know they tried to scare us into never, ever talking to humans again.” He sighed softly and looked down.

“So you’re really doing something that you shouldn’t. Oh, James…” He grinned softly. “I never knew that you had that side inside you. It’s… It’s kinda hot.”

"Kinda hot huh? Maybe we should do something with that." Wilson grinned slightly before pulling away, making his way to the bedroom, knowing that House will follow him no matter what.

 

*

                                      

The next day was... hectic, to say the least. Wilson had dressed himself in one of his old suits and, with his wings hidden from human view, he had walked with the man back to PPTH. He had decided to wait a bit before he showed himself to House' team - they had talked about it in bed the evening before. They had stayed up until three am before House finally fell asleep. Wilson had stayed with him in bed, even though he didn't technically need any sleep anymore.

House woke up to an already dressed Wilson and after a brief whine to alert the man of the fact that his eyes were open, he could convince the doctor to get out of the suit again and give him the same attention the angel had given him last night. If Wilson had still been a doctor, if Wilson had still been working at PPTH, the man would never allowed it, but since he had spent a year without his lover as well, he was rather glad that he could give House some more attention.

Eventually, they got out of the bed - it was twelve by then - and made it to the hospital. House was grinning and whistling as he limped through the halls of the hospital. The team stared at him. Yes, House had turned back to who he was before Wilson and him had become a couple, but now he was jumping around like Wilson could turn up any second and pull him in his arms. House walked into the office - followed by an invisible Wilson to everybody but him - and smiled one of his genuine smiles to the team - and Wilson.

"Good morning. Or afternoon. Got a case, ducklings?" He hummed as he threw his cane against the wall and limped towards a chair to grab a file.

Wilson walked in behind him, kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulders. House' smile grew wider before starting to read the file.

The ducklings were confused as they looked at House reacting to something that wasn't there. It was almost as if Wilson was back, as if they had made up and were together again, although there was no possible chance of that happening.

"Oh, are you wondering what's happening to me that makes me so happy?" He smirked as he looked up briefly from the file. "It begins with 'W' and ends in 'Ilson'."

"House, Wilson is dead." Cameron said, her voice soft and careful.

"Wrong!" House hummed looking over at Wilson.

"We're pretty sure that we buried the man over a year ago, House." Chase said it softly.

Foreman simply frowned his typical frown at the diagnostician.

"Well, we buried his body." House said, shrugging. "Come on, Wilson, time to come out and play!"

The voice of Wilson could be heard sighing and saying "Come on, House, just tell them already."

The three team members looked around in the room, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. "House, you got a recording of Dr. Wilson?"

"He doesn't." Wilson's voice is starting to sound annoyed. "I am dead but not dead." The duckling's eyes widened as they watched Wilson appearing behind House, his hands still on the diagnostician's shoulders. "Hello." He smiled slightly.

"How are you real?" Foreman said as he pushed himself up and walked over to Wilson to touch him - try to see if he was real.

But House put his cane between Foreman and Wilson in a protective manner. "Nope. My man. You don't get to touch him."

Both Foreman and Wilson shot annoyed looks at the diagnostician. "House, shut up. I am quite real. I'm just..." He sighed and looked at Foreman. "I'm an angel."

A long conversation later - and after Cuddy got involved - the three ducklings seemed to have accepted that Wilson was back and the Dean of Medicine was raging against the two doctors who had jumped up on her. House looked bored and Wilson was simply staring at House with a loving look in his eyes. It was obvious that the two of them weren't going to leave each other's side any time soon.

 

*

 

It took three more years before Wilson was completely integrated in society again. It sounded stupid, but Wilson had to develop a character - an illusion - for the rest of the world to see. He had to slowly make his way up as head of Oncology again. House had to fake building a slow relationship with him, even though he did not want it slow. The diagnostician wanted to be able to kiss Wilson any time he wanted to, but Wilson kept insisting that it wasn't right - House didn't bother listening to the reason why.

But those three years later, they were back to where they had started when they had left for London. Wilson would come over around lunch, take House to the cafeteria, the two of them would bicker until House stole some of Wilson's food and then barge away again, to his office, pretending to work - or hide from Cuddy.

Then one morning, instead of driving House to work, Wilson insisted to have a lay in while he kicked House out of the house. The diagnostician was pretty sure it wasn't self important jerk day, not yet, so why would Wilson refuse to leave the house if it wasn't something important?

Then it hit him.

_Wilson was going to propose_. It fit with all the previous times he had asked a woman for her hand in marriage. The oncologist would take off an entire day to make sure the house was ready, the dinner was cooked, and then, when the other came home, they'd have a romantic candle light dinner and at the end, right before desert, he'd propose.

But not if House could do something about it. He called in to tell Cuddy that he wasn't going to come in because he was sick - he even faked a quite convincing cough - so he could go ring hunting.

 

*

 

When House came home again that evening - pretending to have returned from work rather than a quite successful hunt for a beautiful ring that he knew that Wilson would like. So he walked in and acted surprised at the candlelight dinner he had predicted that morning. A wide smile and some exchanged kisses later, Wilson did get out a homemade starter and he informed House that there was a lasagna waiting in the oven.

House was planning on asking after the starter, but the closer he came to emptying his plate, the more nervous he got. He was pretty sure that the man - no, the angel - would accept it, but he still couldn't shake off the strange feeling.

So he waited. He waited until their plates were empty the first time, he waited until the lasagna was out of the oven and he waited until it was completely devoured. Wilson smiled widely at House when he cleaned up the table. When everything was cleaned up again, he excused himself, but House grabbed his arm before he could leave the room.

"Wilson, Jimmy..." He started, before he took a deep breath. "I have to ask you something."

Wilson looked up and smiled at the diagnostician. "What is it House?" He asked softly, stepping closer to House and smiling softly. He wrapped his wings around the man - he always let them out when it was just the two of them in the house.

House smiled softly and took a feather between his fingers and stared at it for a while. He didn't say anything, he just couldn't say anything. Wilson frowned at him and cupped his cheek. "House? Greg, are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine, fine." The diagnostician muttered before reaching into his jacket pocket. "I said I had to ask you something. Well, you probably already know what it is, but I'm still going to ask, I have to anyway."

A smile appeared on the oncologist's lips. "What do you want to ask, Greg?" He asked, his voice so soft, so tender as he looked at the man in his arms.

House stepped away from the angel and got down on one knee, getting out a small, velvet box and opening it, revealing a simply, yet beautiful golden ring. He heard Wilson gasp softly as he watched him.

"James Evan Wilson. You died, four years ago now, and yet here you are again. You came back and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. I love you, so much." A warm smile lit up his face - one of the rare genuine smiles - before he continued. "I have never thought that I would be the one asking this, I just... I knew that you were going to ask me today and I wanted to be the one asking this time." He said softly. "I don't want to be the fourth Mrs. Wilson, but I want you to be the first Mrs. House. James, will you do me the extraordinary honor of marrying me?"

And even wider smile appeared on the oncologist's lips as he pulled the other into a deep kiss. After a while, he pulled back again and whispered against the other's lips. "Yes. Yes of course I'll marry you." He smiled widely. "I love you too, Gregory House."

The two of them smiled warmly at each other and held each other close. They had lost each other once and now they had finally found each other again. And they were never going to let the other go again.

"So, what does your ring look like?" House asked eventually, when they were in bed that evening.

"I never had a ring." Wilson grinned. "I was never going to ask you, I wanted you to ask me. I knew you'd realize that there was a pattern and what I was about to do."

"You tricked me!" House gasped. "You..." He shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

Wilson laughed softly and pressed a soft kiss to House' cheek. "I know, Greg, that's why you love me."

"Yes, I do." He smiled and closed his eyes, wrapped up in the angel's arms. "I love you so much. I always want to be with you."

"As do I, my love, as do I."

House was about to protest about the nickname, but he simply smiled and let himself drift off to sleep while Wilson looked over him, protecting him while he slept.

 

*

 

It took another three months before the two of them found themselves standing at the altar, all dressed up, ready to say 'I do' to each other and binding them together for eternity. Cuddy was standing behind House, as the diagnostician's best woman, while Chase was standing behind Wilson. The two of best people smiled fondly at each other as the ceremony began and the two of them did what they needed to do to let it continue under the best of circumstances.

It flew by and afterwards, House would barely remember the ceremony itself. Oh, he remembered Wilson, he remembered how he looked, standing there in front of him, dressed in the same suit as him. He remembered saying _I do_ to him, he remembered going to the reception.

He did remember the reception. The food, the feeling of Wilson's hand around him, wearing his new golden ring that said that he was his husband now. He remembered dancing - shuffling around on the dance floor, using Wilson as his cane - not that the angel minded. He remembered smiling as much as he had never smiled before. But above all, he remembered the evening, when the two of them got ready to go on their honeymoon.

They were going to go to Venice - the weather was supposed to be quite wonderful - and had been packing for ages now. Wilson had insisted no buying some shorts for the diagnostician, but he made sure that they all covered his leg so that nobody would know.

He also remembered waiting in the airport, Wilson was a man shaped ball of nerves, bouncing around the place, pacing, doing anything but sitting quietly next to House. Their plane would be arriving soon and he knew that Wilson was going over everything that could go wrong in his mind. House got up and placed his hand on his husband's arm.

Wilson looked up at him and a smile lit up his face. He pressed a soft and chaste kiss to House' lips before continuing to pace.

"Calm down, would you?" House said eventually, pulling Wilson in his arms so that he could not move anymore. "I would rather have you in my arms than watch you pace any longer."

"But House... I haven't... I haven't been in a plane since... Well, you know." He gestured at his hidden wings.

House nodded. "It's going to be fine. I know it is. And you know how?"

When Wilson didn't reply and simply raised his eyebrow at the man, House shrugged and went on. "Because I love you. And as long as we have each other, everything is always going to be fine."

"Never took you as a romantic." Wilson smirked slightly, even though he was moved by what House had said.

"Don't ever tell anyone, I've got a reputation to uphold."

The oncologist just smiled in reply, knowing that House was right, that they were going to be alright. Just the two of them, together, forever.


End file.
